Forget Dick-In-a-Box...

Dick comes in cans. Contrary to what Justin Timberlake might have you believe, dick does not come in boxes, though some people might find boxes in which to stick their dicks (I'm looking at you again, JT). However, I generally try to avoid most scenarios that involve dicks or places they're being put. Little did I expect that as I rounded the corner into the organic food section that I would come across a form of dick with which I was totally (and blessedly) unfamiliar:



As if the idea of spotted dick pudding weren't bad enough, here it was made by Heinz, canned, and available at my local Fred Meyer grocery store. For one thing, spotted dick sounds infectious, and therefore surely the pudding from a spotted dick would not be consumable lest you come down with some sort of Malaysian ass fungus all over your mouth. But maybe that's why you're supposed to microwave it first? And sponge pudding? At a casual glance it looks like "spooge pudding" and the picture on the can doesn't do much to dissuade that assumption. Also, I must say that I doubt Heinz has ever produced anything organic other than perhaps the solid matter found in the toilets at their factory.

As with most horribly disturbing food items, the British are to be blamed for the creation of this monstrosity and the Germans for putting it in a can. This certainly hasn't put me any closer to getting past the blue ketchup of years past. If any of y'all want to come out and defend your country, now would be a good time.

The Quest for Convenience

There are many things the world would be better off without. Blue food. Donkey porn. George W. Bush. Among these distasteful items we can now count the following:



Who the hell decided that corndogs needed a crackbaby white trash cousin? With shit flecks, no less? It's like someone took a corndog, infused it with sugar and twice the amount of grease necessary, and then used it as a prop in a scat porno.

This horror was introduced to me through a friend's anecdote of a grocery store trip gone awry. I still await the explanation of why they were shopping for laundry detergent in the frozen foods section, but perhaps it was fate that led them to discover this festering zit on the underarm of the food industry.

Don't get me wrong; I like sausage. I've even gone so far as to say that sausage is the apple in the garden of my vegetarianism. Nevertheless, I reckon that this food product contains about as much genuine sausage as a vegan tofu head cheese.

And here is a quote from my friend that about sums it up:

"He just spent ten minutes describing how much he loved the 'retarded autistic cousin of a corndog' breakfast ON A STICK he had this morning (warm cup of syrup and all). I find this more disturbing than the product itself. These things must have been marketed towards 5 year olds, but yet here we find a 34 year old man just a bit too happy about them. I don’t care if he is fat and lazy; the quest for convenience has gone too far."

Rant: Toe Cleavage

Ok. So, most of the time there are a lot of things I like about the ways women dress, right down to their shoes. I appreciate a good pair of high heels, especially because I myself am not able to walk in them due to the multitude of fractures in my right foot. I am not a foot fetishist by any means, but I always admire a pair of well-groomed and well-built feet. They are just another part of the glorious female body. So WHY do women encase feet in shoes that do this:



For now we will ignore the combination of taupe with striped pants and focus instead on the thing that horrifies me most - toe cleavage. Apparently some people have a fetish for toe cleavage. I am making that conjecture due to the sorts of pages that turned up on my google image search. I believe that everyone should be allowed to have their fetishes, but this one I do not understand. When I see those toe cracks pointing out from the front of a shoe, all I can envision is the dirt, sweat, and several varieties of fungus that could be brewing in there. Feet are DIRTY. Especially the feet of people who wear sandals or shoes that don't cover the entirety of the foot. That's why people have rough, crusty heels that are cracking and flaking off, possibly oozing some sort of pus if they haven't been washed recently. And it horrifies me.

Honestly, though, I have a problem with this whole picture. First off, you could easily spear and grill a squirrel on the point of this shoe. Actually, you could do two squirrels at once - one on the toe and one on the heel - if you could manage to hold the shoe without burning yourself. And by burning I definitely mean not the lick of the grill flames, but the burning of fungus and possibly an STD contracted by the shoe as it was rubbed over someone's crotch.

Problem #2: Babydoll Shoes



I actually think this style of shoe is pretty cute. EXCEPT WHEN PEOPLE'S STINKY TOE CRACKS ARE HANGING OUT. To me, this is the equivalent of having plumber's crack times four hanging out of your shoes. And honestly, if the plumber took a shower that morning, his hairy buttcrack is probably cleaner than some of these ladies' toe cracks, especially if one of those ladies was using her toes to fondle his unwashed buttcrack the night before.

Cream of the CRAP

Last night at the grocery store I stood in the express lane fidgeting while the dumb bitch two people in front of me argued with the cashier about the price of her cherries. Clearly she was misinformed, because a dried-up hag like that certainly no longer has a cherry of any kind, much less a whole bag. Instead of haggling over a bag of Rainiers that she wanted for $1.99 (every Northwesterner knows they never sell for less than $5.99/lb) she ought to have considered investing her money in a pair of pliers to remove the thorny stick from her crusty old sphincter.

Unfortunately, she was the sort of sniveling twat-smear who would rather gripe at the helpless cashier while shooting furtive glances at the mentally impaired bagger as opposed to use logic to determine that the best course of action would be to (at the very least) take a dominant lover with a propensity for the generous use of ball gags.

So, with my patience wearing incredibly thin, I stood there sweating from my run with my underwear simultaneously falling down below my hips and riding so far up my ass that I was in danger of a spleen-ectomy. Then, I saw a horror that outstripped Bitchy McTwatwipe so quickly that her insipid voice disappeared instantly into the hum of the grocery store.

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. With WHITE CHOCOLATE.



Now, I don't go to the store all that often other than the occasional run to Fresh Plus. Consequently I have managed to completely overlook the development of this heinous new candy that has been on the stands since at least 2004.

Who the @!$# puts white chocolate on ANYTHING? Much less Reese's? I'm sorry, but I don't want what is the candy equivalent of congealed jism violating otherwise perfectly good (if intensely sugared and preserved) peanut butter. White chocolate isn't even chocolate. It was probably invented by a Republican and made out of baby seal eyes. It tastes like sugary vanilla wax on a good day, and dried out cottage cheese from your grandmother's posthumous cooter on a bad one. I mean look at the picture, people! The one that's been bitten into looks like a pustule that's been years in the making. You know the type - liquidy white pus on the outside, hard yellow pus on the inside. What sane human being wants to eat a gigantic sugared pustule?

I do not understand.

DoughNOT Eat this Piece of Shit

That's really the only advice I can give. If you are going to consume over 1000 calories and 45g of fat one would at least hope you have the sense to make it in the form of something bigger than a breadbox.

Some baseball team in the Midwest whose brains are clearly located between their ball sacks and rectums came up with the idea of the Krispy Kreme doughnut burger. Actually, I should clarify - make that the Krispy Kreme doughnut bacon-cheddar cheese burger.



In all honesty, the calorie content is the least of this object's offenses. Note that I call it an "object" because nothing this grotesque should ever be referred to as food. Souffle of fetal pig would be more appetizing, perhaps served with a side of toasted banana slugs and creamed goat stool. I'm not even going to bother telling you where you can find one of these monstrosities for sale, because I doubt the team will be able to play ball after half of them are dead from cardiac arrest and the others all weigh upwards of 400lbs.

I may like to eat my share of disgusting things, but at least cooter is low fat.

RidiculASS

Well, being the raging little homo that I am, nobody would expect me to have any fashion taste. I mean, lesbians are known for sensible shoes and bad haircuts, right? However, I would like to point out that my intrinsic bad taste due to sexual orientation means that something which offends my sensibilities must be exponentially more horrific to have an effect. And speaking of such horrificness, let me introduce you to the WORST pair of jeans I have ever seen.



Right. So, for starters there is some confusion here. The presence of a huge gaping space over the wearer's asscrack seems to indicate that a gay man designed this obscenity. But... don't gay men usually have good taste? Is there a subculture of fashion designers who find the combination of farmer's tan, cop glasses, and 70s pornstar moustache sexy? I could have sworn they all got AIDS and died back in the 80s.



In case you couldn't see well enough, here's a closeup. Now we have a lovely display of crack, where the shadows of wiry ass-whiskers appear to be protruding slightly. How much do you want to bet that it's braidable? His ass also looks as if it has never seen sunlight, which is kind of surprising considering that it is showing in all its glory now.

And finally:



All I have to say is that I wouldn't stick my thumb in that crack. I'll bet his fingers reeked for days.

Oh My Fucking HURK!

As most of my friends know, I am not easily grossed out. Disgusted, yes, but more in that pretentious there's-a-fly-in-my-soup sort of way. Today I was grossed out. Violently. To the point at which while typing to a friend I misspelled several synonyms for vomit in my attempt to quantify the churning of my innards. Behold, the Jones Soda Co. Holiday Pack for 2005:



Brussels Sprout, Cranberry, Turkey Gravy, Wild Herb Stuffing, Pumpkin Pie.

As if that weren't bad enough, that's only the beginning of the insult. They also have a regional pack:



Broccoli Casserole, Smoked Salmon Pate, Turkey & Gravy, Corn on the Cob, Pecan Pie.

"SMOKED SALMON PATE????" Now I am a northwestern girl and I know we love our salmon. But salmon flavored soda? Especially in combination with whatever chemicals make it zero calorie? You've got to be fucking kidding me. If I wanted my mouth to tasted like smoked fish for several hours I'd feast on biker-chick pussy.

The only sodas that don't completely horrify me are the cranberry sauce and the pecan pie. It's pretty hard to fuck up cranberry, and I imagine that the pecan pie tastes a lot like their cream soda ought to, instead of like sugar-sprinkled baby wipe.

Let me digress here to point out the particular shade of putrid that both the Brussels Sprout and Broccoli Casserole sodas are sporting. The slightly browner tint of broccoli one makes it reminiscent of what would be spurting in powerful jets out of your ass shortly after you'd consumed the brussels sprout soda in one sitting. With the opaquity of the liquid, it may even be hiding preissued chunks. Combine that with the Pecan Pie and soon enough you could be bottling your very own version of the Turkey & Gravy soda - homebrew style. And by homebrewed I mean expelled from your rectum straight into the bottle. They should definitely be marketing this as a bowel cleansing system, not an alternative Thanksgiving meal.